


riches and wonders

by betochavez



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Honeymoon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betochavez/pseuds/betochavez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nijimura and Himuro are newlyweds who don't have the funds to go on a fancy honeymoon, so they create their own in their apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	riches and wonders

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does not follow the AU I had created in my last two fics. Instead of meeting in a bar, Nijimura and Himuro had met as teenagers (as in canon), were separated when Himuro moved back to Japan...and were reunited when Himuro moved back to California (which is described in my mix, http://8tracks.com/betochavez/i-am-home). This fic was inspired by the Mountain Goats song "Riches and Wonders," and the final section was inspired by the song "Bonfires" by Blue Foundation. I would recommend listening to the songs before, during, or after reading for the full experience (not that I am anyone to tell you how to live your life!). Both of those songs are featured on that mix.

                A proper honeymoon to a tropical locale was simply not possible on a bartender and a math teacher’s combined salaries. Besides, they blew their entire budget on a beautiful wedding in Malibu; they helped pay to fly in old friends, some friends even older. Their matching white and gold tuxedoes were _not_ sale items, and their invitations of the same style were printed on paper certain to not crinkle on the long flight to Japan. This gold and white color scheme held no more significance than the fact that they looked good together. Luxury and purity. Decadence and prudence. That was how Nijimura and Himuro saw themselves, after all. And if their wedding was decadence and luxury, their week-long honeymoon was to be one of purity and prudence; not riches, but wonders.

                Their apartment was dark, and Nijimura collapsed onto the couch, belly up, completely drained. Himuro flopped on top of him. “Ow,” said Nijimura calmly, expecting this.

                Like a cat, Himuro padded around on Nijimura to get comfortable, finally deciding on a position that was chest to chest, belly-button to belly-button, cheek to cheek. Himuro marveled at how unfair it was. He could be as close to Shuuzo as humanly possible—he clasped his hand, their fingers interlaced and grazing the floor—but it wasn’t close enough. Their own flesh felt like a wall that kept them apart. He felt Nijimura’s stomach grumble.  No time for the lucky grooms to eat at their own wedding. Figures.

                “Wait,” said Himuro, as he pulled himself off Nijimura, kneeing him in the thigh. “Ow,” Nijimura repeated dutifully. Himuro returned with a small container of cubed mango. This time he inserted himself to the side of Nijimura, between him and the back of the couch. Reclined on his side, with his cheek in his hand, Himuro placed the container of mangoes on Nijimura’s chest. Himuro fingered the box for a piece, and fed Nijimura, letting his fingers linger on his lips.

                “Whaf this foh?” Asked Nijimura, juices sliding down his chin.

                “Our honeymoon,” started Himuro, “begins now.” This time, he fed himself a piece of mango.

                “Wait, wait,” Nijimura said, swallowing. “If you fed me, I get to feed _you_.”

                “Naturally.” Himuro let his head rest on Nijimura’s shoulder. Nijimura, who hadn’t fed anyone since his siblings were little kids, felt a little embarrassed.

                “Here comes the plane. Whoooooooooosh.” He tried to place a piece of mango in Himuro’s mouth, but his head was tilted back, in a full, hearty laugh, right into Nijimura’s ear.

                “That is the most unromantic thing I have _ever_ seen.” Himuro said, catching his breath.

                Nijimura considered countering with, “Oh? So _you_ can be more romantic?” But he knew it was futile. Of course Tatsuya could be more romantic. No point in being competitive about it. “You think _that’s_ unromantic, you’ve seen _nothing_ yet.”

                “Now _that_ sounds like a challenge.” Himuro fed himself another piece of mango, but kept it between his teeth. He pulled Nijimura’s face closer to his and kissed him, transferring the fruit to his mouth. Nijimura gently placed his hand on Himuro’s neck, and pulled him closer, rolling him on top of himself again, mango spilling to the floor.

* * *

               The blanket fort was Nijimura’s idea. He collected the largest sheets they had, and draped them over the couch and chairs he pulled from the kitchen. Himuro used throw pillows to hold down the sheets, but more times than not the sheets would fall and disrupt the couple’s game of old maid. Himuro also enjoyed arts and crafts, and protected by their fortress they made masks out of paper plates and popsicle sticks. They connected two paper cups with string, and used them to communicate across the room.  Nijimura whispered lyrics of the pop love songs they had heard at their wedding, which Himuro found amusing. “Shuu, come here.”

                Nijimura put down his cup and crawled to Himuro on his hands and knees, lest he disturb the sheets that had stayed up so obediently the last 40 minutes. Himuro lightly grasped the front of Nijimura’s shirt, and pulled him in, as if for a kiss. He stared down Nijimura’s shirt, then looked up at him, eyes half open. “Do you know the word _amor_?”

                “ _Amor_? It doesn’t sound like English.”

                “It’s not. It’s Spanish. I learned it a long time ago. It means ‘love.’ Like, you are _mi amor_ , my love.”

                “ _Mi amor_.” Despite living in California, Nijimura didn’t have that much experience with Spanish. At his American high school he took Chinese, thinking his experience with Japanese would at least lend itself to the written language. Even so, his tongue wrapped easily around the words, as if _love_ was something that could not be denied to him, no matter the language.

                “You’re a natural. Say it again.”

                “ _Mi amor…_ ”

                “ _Mi amor…_ ” Himuro pulled Nijimura to him, and as they sank lower in their whispers, the blanket fort gave way and fell on top of them, like the period to a sentence they never wanted to finish.

* * *

 

                “This…might not be a great idea.”

                Nijimura and Himuro stood, naked, in their bathroom. Nijimura, his arms folded across his chest, regarded his and Himuro’s bodies. He stared at the small, American-style bathtub. “It’s just not going to work.”

                “Please? I’ve always wanted to do this.”

                “How about a shower instead?”

                “In _this_ drought? Besides, showering together feels almost…economical. This is more _intimate_.”

                “Tatsuya. We are…big boys.”

                Himuro winked. “Hell _yeah_ we are.”

                “Well,” Nijimura said, ignoring Himuro’s innuendo, “I guess…if we both get in, and then start the water _after_ …”

                “Shuu. It’s cold in here. I’m…shrinking.”

                Nijimura sighed and started the water. “We wouldn’t want that. Hurry up and get in.”

                Himuro got into the bathtub, his knees bending, his feet on top of the drain. Nijimura quickly got in too, his head on the opposite side of the tub. He pushed Himuro’s feet apart and sat between them, and placed his own feet on either side of Himuro’s torso. His right hand he steadied against the wall, and his left arm was around the faucet as if he were putting the moves on it. He was extremely uncomfortable.

                “Did you remember the bubble bath?”

                “No…oh my God.” Nijimura quickly got out of the bath, (accidentally) kicking Himuro in the chest as he did so. His wet feet pattered across the floor, and Himuro hooted as he bent down to try and find the bubble bath in the cabinet. “Har har har. Very mature.”

                “Come on! Spin around!”

                Nijimura obliged.

                The water spilled over the top of the tub.

                “SHIT!” Nijimura shut off the tub faucet. “Shit.”  He opened the drain to remove the water, but stopped once he noticed Himuro shivering. “Really? It’s the middle of summer.”

                “It’s cold in _here_!”

                “Well, I can’t remove enough water to make the bubbles.”

                “Oh, I can fix that. Give me the soap.”

                Nijimura obliged.

                Himuro squirted the bubble bath on Nijimura’s body.

                “Hey! It’ll get everywhere!”

                “It’s fine! It’s fine! I’ll clean it up!”

                “Hell _yeah_ you’re gonna clean it up.” Nijimura turned the faucet back on and got back into the tub. The water pressure, though somewhat weak, was enough to create bubbles –not that there was really any extra space, between Nijimura and Himuro’s 6-foot statures.

                “Shuu, don’t get mad…”

                “Oh my God.”

                “…but I’m cold.”

                “Of course you are. Hold on, I’m coming over.” Nijimura propped himself up, one hand on either side of the tub, and brought his feet to a crouch directly under his body. He then lay on his back, and used his feet to propel his head and arms to the other side of the tub. He repositioned himself, and wrapped his right arm around Himuro’s neck, pressing his left against the wall. He finally flopped down, landing on Himuro’s shoulder, allowing soapy water to slosh over the edge. “This might very well be the most dangerous bath I have ever taken.”

                “It’s in my top five.”

                Nijimura snorted. He slowly lowered his torso, which always seemed to radiate heat, onto Himuro, who was, as usual, ice cold. More water sloshed out. “Oops. You warm yet?”

                Himuro shivered. “You know I probably never will be.”

                “Weak California boy.”

                “Shuu…sorry about this. I know you don’t like messes, and probably saw how this would turn out immediately…I just always wanted to try something like this—”

                “Please. I’m having the time of my life.” Nijimura felt his right arm fall asleep.

                “This _has_ to be the most uncomfortable thing you’ve ever done.”

                “It’s in my top five.”

                Himuro gripped the wall and pushed himself up. “Let’s take a quick shower to get the suds off.”

                Nijimura gently steered Himuro back into the tub. “No way. We’re finishing this sexy bath. I still need you to wash my back.”

                “Hmm.” Himuro, deft as he could in the limited space, sat up as Nijimura laid back down. Himuro straddled him and leaned over, gripping the edge of the bathtub with both hands. “Think you can do mine first?”

                “Uh. Uh huh.” Himuro leaned in for the kiss, pulling Nijimura’s head up ever so slightly, so the water that was left in the tub would not rush into his ears.

* * *

 

                “Cheers!”

                “Cheers.”

                Nijimura and Himuro tipped back their champagne, reclining together on their couch. The couch, of course, was barren of cushions (as they had more important uses elsewhere), so Himuro used Nijimura’s lap as a head pillow. Nijimura remembered his deep, everlasting love for Himuro Tatsuya, and did his best to pretend that his butt was _not_ falling asleep on the hard, pillow-less couch.

                “You know,” Himuro said, nuzzling the back of his head deeper into Nijimura’s thighs, “I actually hate champagne.”

                Nijimura stared down at him. A most unflattering angle, even for Shuu. “You’re kidding.”

                “I’m not. I know it seems strange for a bartender to hate _any_ sort of alcoholic beverage, but I really hate champagne. I don’t like it when the bubbles go up my nose. And it just kind of tastes like cheap wine, and it goes bad _really_ quickly, and—“

                “You have very strong opinions about this.”

                “I _DO_! It was actually the number one thing I was most anxious about for our wedding. Guests, I wasn’t worried about. Surprisingly. The suits, no concerns. The cake didn’t even cross my mind. I was worried about having to drink champagne and have the bubbles hurt my nose.” Himuro roughly puffed air out of his nose, feeling the bubbles rushing up already.

                “Okay, okay.” Nijimura took the glass from Himuro, and dumped it into his own. “You know, if you were so concerned about the champagne, we didn’t have to do it. I’d rather you be comfortable than follow any pointless tradition.”

                “Oh nooo…” Himuro said, raising his hand to his forehead, as if he had a fever. “What a mistake! I guess we have to have the whole wedding all over again.”

                “Yeah. Okay.” Nijimura put down his overflowing glass of champagne, and gently placed his hand under Himuro’s shirt. Himuro did his characteristic half pur, half chuckle that always seemed to say _Oho, you want to do that_ now _?_ A verbal winky face emoji. Nijimura pressed his hand in and aggressively tickled Himuro’s belly.

                “FUCK!” Himuro screamed, twisting around until his nose was between Nijimura’s thighs.

                “I’m going to keep doing this until all the bubbles are out of your nose.” Nijimura decisively grabbed him and dug into his sides. Exceptionally ticklish as he was, Himuro flopped forward and gripped the side of the couch, slapping it (and Nijimura) periodically.

                “STOP! STOP! THEY’RE GONE!” Each word was punctuated by an uncouth guffaw that contradicted the vehemence Himuro desired to convey.

                “Ah? Okay.”

                Nijimura removed his hands. Himuro slumped over, letting out a huge sigh as if they _had_ just made love. He panted heavily and stared at Nijimura. “Bro,” was all he could manage.

                “Bro.” Smiling, Nijimura helped Himuro back over the couch. “I’m going to get some chardonnay, and we will get drunk the way God intended.”

                “Get some tequila too, you bastard.”

                 Nijimura chuckled on his way to the kitchen. It made him sad, sometimes, to think about how few people know the _real_ Tatsuya. He had resting bitch face, Nijimura often noticed, and though friendly enough, he was rather intimidating to approach. To _others_ , that is. Nijimura’s earliest memory of Himuro was the gentle smile he gave him after protecting him from some hooligans. Though this was over ten years ago, Nijimura could still easily remember that smile. It peppered everything Himuro did: when he stubs his toe and curses, when he hops around trying to squeeze himself into his skinny jeans, when he quarantines himself in the bathroom after eating too much ice cream without a lactase tablet. All of this and more with a gentle smile. Even if he wasn’t actually smiling. But Nijimura knew Tatsuya was always smiling for him.

                “Hey,” Nijimura said, pouring himself a shot, “check out this new idea I have for the bar.”

                “Okay. Do it.”

                 Nijimura tilted his head back and drank, screaming a little (tequila is, objectively, NOT chardonnay). He then grabbed for a bag of chips under the couch, and stuffed a handful into his mouth.  “Chips… for a chaser.”

                 “Just saying, chips can’t really be a chaser. You’ve had a snack.” Himuro poured himself a shot, took it, and then sucked on a lemon slice. “ _That_ is a chaser.”

                “No offense, but that looks horrifying.”

                 Himuro grinned, already forgetting the tickling transgression from earlier. Well, that’s unfair. Himuro’s only attribute reminiscent of an elephant was that he _never_ forgot. But, somehow, he managed to forget and forgive unbelievably easily for Nijimura. It was times like this he loved the most. His only regret about Nijimura was that not everyone could see this side of him (though, given his own nature, did Himuro _really_ want just _anyone_ to see him like this?). He was never _shy_ , per se, but he did seem to prefer working behind the scenes, though he was a natural leader. In the teacher’s association Nijimura was stern and firm, occasionally quietly making jokes to whomever was lucky enough to sit close enough to him to hear them. Rarely did anyone believe that _Nijimura Shuuzo_ could crack jokes. Himuro had always thought he was hilarious. He loved watching Nijimura unleash his true self before him, melting like butter, coming undone but staying together.

                The chardonnay fell by the wayside, and the two took shot after shot, screeching, laughing, inventing different chasers. One time, Nijimura kissed Himuro after tossing one back, but he claimed that Himuro’s mouth was bitter from the tequila, and it was like taking two shots. Himuro seized this opportunity to pin Nijimura down and kiss him ravenously, as payback for earlier. This was, of course, Nijimura’s ultimate goal.

* * *

 

                 Sufficiently intoxicated and tangled in each other’s limbs on the floor, they chatted about what had been going on in their lives during the past few months, having both realized that they hadn’t been able to really _talk_ like this while wedding planning. They discussed nonsense after nonsense, dotted with sweet nothings, until Nijimura hiccupped, “You know…I was talking to Mrs. Barstow downstairs…and s-she said that our apartment was _haunted_.”

                “You’re puuuullin’ my leg.”

                “No I’m not.” Nijimura stared at him, eyes half open. Then he pulled on Himuro’s foot. “Now I am.”

                “That,” Himuro said pounding his fist on the floor with absolutely no force, “was the funniest thing I have—anyone has ever seen. That _includes_ the ghost.”

                “Thaz…that’s big talk. Big talk.” Nijimura’s head was swaying side to side. Or maybe Himuro was swaying. Both were equally possible. “Maybe…we should ask the ghost. GHOSTIE!!” Nijimura shouted, so fervently his back arched on the ground, “WHAZ THE FUNNIEST THING YOU’VE EVER SEEN?”

                “His name isn’t Ghostie. Proberbly.”

                “ _Her_ name.”

                Himuro nodded sagely. “We shoulda ask her name first. It’s…” he struggled to find the word. It felt like his brain was dancing the flamenco. “Polite.”

                “ _Great_ point superstar. What else?”

                Himuro pulled out his smartphone and googled “ghost hunting tips,” though of course, since he was _quite_ drunk, it came out as “that hubridb rips.” “Thaz good fer now.”

                “’Kay. Here…I go.” Nijimura folded his arms across his chest and strutted across the room, as if he was an old-timey cop performing an interrogation. “Ghostie…if that even IS your real name…what is your name?”

                As if on cue, a poster that was hanging in the laundry room fell down and knocked over a bottle of detergent. Himuro _screamed_ and climbed onto Nijimura, his face an interesting combination of rosy from the alcohol and white from ass-clenching terror. “WHAT THE _FUCK_ WAS THAT?”

                “It came…from the lurndry room. I think the poster of Kobe fell down.”

                “So the ghost…is named Kobe?”

                “The ghost _could_ be Kobe Bryant.”

                “But Kobe Bryant isn’t dead.” 

                “Have you…have you ever been in the same _room_ as Kobe Bryant?”

                Himuro looked at his hands and seemed to be counting his fingers, as if trying to remember every time he’d been in a room with a basketball celebrity. “No I…haven’t…oh my God…”

                "Well _thurs_ your answer. KOBE GHOST! CAN YOU STILL DUNK?”

                “I thought we wanted to know what the funniest shit he’d ever seen was. You can’t just make Kobe Ghost dunk.”

                “Tatsuya, you are as kind as you are beau-ful and sexy. Bring it in.” Nijimura opened his arms, and Himuro tottered in, knocking a water bottle over into the trash can.

                “HE DUNKED! HE DUNKED!”

                “HOLY SHIT!” They decided to not test their luck with the ghost any longer, and they ran into their bedroom, shut the door, and rushed under the covers, thanking God in his infinite mercy for stopping the ghost of the not-dead Kobe Bryant from slam dunking them straight to Hell.

* * *

                Nijimura and Himuro lay, cuddling, on their bed, the alcohol slowly working its way out of their systems. Himuro, as the big spoon, nestled his nose into Nijimura’s neck, and inhaled gently. Feeling it, Nijimura chuckled. “That tickled.” He rolled over and rubbed Himuro’s cheek with his thumb, and kissed his nose.

                “Shuu…I’ve always loved…how you take care of me.”

                Nijimura sensed that Himuro had more to say, so he hugged him and pulled his head into his chest, playing with his hair. “It was always me taking care of others…I’m everyone’s big brother. But I don’t feel like that around you. People sometimes make me nervous because I’m always worried about them. Or rather…” Himuro gripped some of Nijimura’s shirt. He played with it intently, as if wanting to feel every fiber between his fingers. “What they would eventually want from me. But you, you give so much of yourself…to everyone…I couldn’t do that. I can’t give all of myself. There were things I always want to keep to myself. My pride…my pain… it’s mine. No one else should have to see that. But I don’t…know how to do it. Take care of myself. I can do it for others, but it’s so hard for myself…I’m not good at forgiving people…I hold grudges…”

                Nijimura couldn’t stay quiet. “I don’t understand where all this is coming from.”

                “I’m just kind of drunk still, I guess.” Himuro knew better than anyone that secrets can tumble out of a plastered mouth. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m a good guy.”

                Nijimura didn’t respond immediately. Suddenly, he said, “When my dad got sick, I had to devote my time to him. I felt…I love him, I love my family, but I didn’t want to leave basketball. I worked hard for my family but…of course I wanted a break. I feel…” Nijimura sighed, and nuzzled himself into Himuro’s chest, “I feel like I can _rest_ with you. I feel so safe here. I…sometimes I miss Japan, I miss it so much, like…I want to _go_ home but… I can’t because I _am_ home.” He dug his fist into Himuro’s chest. “I am home.”

                Nijimura looked up, wondering what kind of face Himuro would make at a declaration like that. He had never thought that emotions like those could lend themselves so easily to words. But he quickly discerned that Himuro was asleep. For how long, he didn’t have time to wonder, because he also began to drift off, Himuro’s scent still lingering in his nostrils.

* * *

 

               “Tatsuya? Where’d ya go?”

                Nijimura sat up in bed, and rubbed his eyes. His head pulsed, and his tongue scratched against the top of his mouth. _Oh. I’m hungover_. Immediately, his bladder filled, and he managed to get up on his feet and make his way to the bathroom. He found Himuro, staring at himself in the mirror, rubbing his cheekbone under his eye. Nijimura reached around him and grabbed a cup, and filled it with tap water. “’Mornin’,” he said, and kissed him on the cheek, and did his business while drinking the water. He took a deep breath, and sighed while shaking his head quickly side-to-side, making the always amusing _brrrrrrrrr_ sound with his mouth. He looked at Himuro for his reaction. There was none.

                “Drink some water. You’ll feel better. Or should I just start the coffee maker?” Himuro motioned that he needed to use the toilet. “Got it. I’ll go start the coffee.” Nijimura pulled his pants up and washed his hands, not at all surprised by Himuro’s behavior. Last night brought up a lot of emotions neither of them probably thought they would ever vocalize.  Though, maybe he should have blamed it all on this _morning_ ; they had lost track of time in their talking, and the oven clock read 7 PM. They slept a _long_ time, probably a good thing considering how little sleep they had gotten the last few nights. _Guess coffee is out of the question_.

                Nijimura got the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and poured two huge glasses. He went back into their bedroom and changed, grabbing an extra set of clothes (and a jacket). Back in the kitchen, he drank his whole glass of tea in one go, slowly and deliberately, as if each gulp injected vitality straight into his body. He was going to need it. He also pulled the jar of pickles out of the fridge, and used a fork to arrange a couple of gherkins neatly on a plate.

                Himuro finally shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his temples. His breathing was shallow, like he just had a long, frustrating conversation with someone he didn’t like. “Here,” said Nijimura, “drink this. It’s a bit late,” he tilted his head to the oven clock, “for coffee. And eat these.” He nudged the plate of pickles to Himuro. Himuro stared at him, but sat down and ate the provisions as told. Though the pickles crunched loudly, Himuro’s aura seemed to absorb the sound, bottling it up. His whole body simmered, like a pot of soup on low heat.

                “When you’re done with that—no rush, though—go change into these.” He plopped the clothes on the table. “I know we said we weren’t going to leave the apartment this week, but there’s some place we’ve gotta go to.”

Himuro stared out the window, the top cracked open slightly for ventilation. His fingers brushed the cold glass softly. It was sundown; the ocean air crackled with smoke from bonfires and wind from far off places. He hadn’t spoken since he had woken up this…evening. He felt disoriented. He felt like he had a slight fever, and his throat was rough, as if he wanted to cry but couldn’t, not right now. Nijimura wordlessly picked up the water bottle in the cup holder, and shook it in front of Himuro, asking him to drink. Himuro took the bottle and drank, the chill assuaging his throat. His head still hurt. His heart still ached. He didn’t know why. He thought it was all in the past. This, he thought, is why he doesn’t drink.

                Finally, Nijimura pulled into a surprisingly full parking lot, right by the sand. “The teenagers beat us here,” he said, shutting off the engine. He took off his sunglasses and placed them on the dashboard. He got out of the car and opened Himuro’s passenger seat door. He took his hand (why did it always feel like Himuro was the one being lead?) and they walked down the beach, taking off their sneakers and socks. The sand was hot but cooling down as the sun sank lower in the horizon. By the time they reached the water, the sky was dark. They could hear the muffled sounds of teenagers squealing and running in the sand, kicking it up into their food. Nijimura’s hand was still around Himuro’s wrist, though as the ocean wind blew and made Himuro’s fingers cold, Nijimura slid his hand further and laced his fingers with Himuro’s. “I brought you a jacket, but I think I left it in the kitchen. Sorry.” He held his hand loosely, as if to merely remind Himuro of his presence.

                Himuro looked out to the sea. For a long time, he hated the ocean. For nearly four years it separated him from Shuu. Right now, he had very mixed feelings. The water lapped up around his bare feet, but the fluidity it gave to the once-solid sand made him appreciate it more. He liked the feeling of wet sand on his feet; it was nature’s callous remover. The water itself was black, as expected in the night, and it didn’t end. It didn’t end. The moon shone down, but even the moon, large as it was, couldn’t hold a candle to that ocean. Kagami loved to surf (does he still?) but Himuro always felt the ocean was too vast to go in any more than thigh-deep. It’s been years since he had been even that far.

                He had always prided himself on being able to keep a cool head. He had always been respected by other kids, by his teammates, by his coworkers. Right now, he felt anything _but_ cool. No, that’s a lie—his head was warm, but the ocean was cooling him down. The ocean, that he couldn’t even _see_ all of in his line of sight.  His past—the things he’d done, the things he’d said—lay beyond that ocean. Some of it was here, in California, too. Back when he was a child. But he didn’t regret being a child. He regretted being a child who was so desperate to grow up and leave everyone behind.

                His pride, he felt, could only dwarfed by this ocean. Did Shuu understand this? He gripped Nijimura’s hand, and let the tears flow. Out of this whole world, out of all these people, and Nijimura Shuuzo was here, next to _him_. “I don’t know…” Himuro croaked. His throat really felt raw now. “I don’t know how you put up with me. How you’re going to put up with me…” He used his free hand to cover his face.

                “Tatsuya. I ‘put up with you’ because you put up with me. It’s simple as that. I married you because you are the only person on this _Earth_ who could tolerate _me_. I mean, here I was, thinking that _I_ would be too much for anyone to handle…” Nijimura let go of his hand and put his arm around his shoulder. He leaned his face in to Himuro’s. “I could never in a million years think that you _also_ thought like that. I don’t want you to. I mean, there’s nothing I can do, if you do…except this, I guess.” They stopped walking, and Nijimura stood in front of him, his hands on both his shoulders. The eye contact broke him, and Himuro sobbed harder. Nijimura touched his forehead with his own. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll still love you, no matter how long you cry. I love you, every bit of you, even the parts you don’t like. The way that you are. You’re my favorite, my very favorite.”

                Himuro looked up. Nijimura’s eyes were also beginning to leak. “Please. Please believe me when I say I know you. I see you. And I love it. I love it all.”

                Himuro swallowed hard. “Oh…don’t cry…” he said, his lip quivering. “If you cry, I’ll cry.”

                “You already beat me to it, dumbass.”

                Himuro mustered a laugh, but it turned into another sob. Nijimura pulled him closer, and he wept into the crook of his neck. “I don’t even remember why I’m crying.”

                “You just realized something very special, that’s all.”

                “How did you know? How did you know… what I needed…”

                “I said it, didn’t I? I know you. Please don’t make me repeat myself, I’m kind of embarrassed…”

                Himuro laughed, for real this time. Nijimura had lifted his spirits the same way he helps him out of a heavy coat. He could breathe again. They sat down, on the wet sand, and got their pants dirty. “I think…” Himuro said, “I am going to _really_ enjoy being married to you.”

                “I’m in your care,” Nijimura said. A familiar Japanese phrase. They huddled closer, sharing warmth.  The moon beamed down on the water. A deep navy.

                Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue.

               

               

* * *

 


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